Tommie Lyn Writes...

2011-12-28T00:06:00.003-06:00

...about things Mama taught me.

When I was growing up, my family was of modest means. In my hometown, most people fit into one of two categories: well-off or poor. The well-off owned businesses or were in upper management at the cotton mill or a spread house or carpet factory. Those who were poor were laborers in those establishments...the working poor.

And then there were others who didn’t even have one of those low-paying jobs. They were the very, very poor.

The knowledge of this wide social divide was impressed upon me when I was in elementary school. A group of well-to-do girls decided, for some reason, that I had suddenly become acceptable, and they would allow me to be part of their group. Even though my clothes were homemade. Even though I had none of the amazing possessions they sported.

One day at recess, when the group gathered on the playground, a girl, who was obviously, heart-breakingly poor, caught their attention. She was dirty, her hair uncombed, her clothes raggedy. And she played all alone.

The well-off girls pointed at her and made fun of her. What they were doing made me uncomfortable, so I backed away and stood at the fringe of the group, not sure what, if anything I could do.

That night, I told Mama about it. She stopped what she was doing and faced me, with fire dancing in her blue eyes. She said, "Don’t just play with those who have nice clothes and already have lots of friends. Tomorrow, you go and be nice to that girl. You play with her. When someone doesn’t have a friend, you be their friend.”

And so I did.

What Mama said sunk deep, set my attitudes and has guided a lot of my decision-making through the years. And, I’m beginning to realize, it has influenced my writing.

I don’t usually write about the rich, the powerful. And in several of my novels, the main character, like Ailean MacLachlainn of High on a Mountain, is poor and has a hard life. Most of my characters are ordinary folks who face tough situations.

But though downtrodden, they are not beaten. They face their circumstances with courage and determination.

Take, for instance, Fallon McKniere, of On Berryhill Road. Fallon endured heartbreak when she was six. Her father died, and it was thought that he committed suicide because he’d embezzled money from the Navy. When she couldn’t take the ridicule, couldn't take being ostracized any longer, she dropped out of school.

She works in a convenience store and has little hope of ever doing better. She makes so little money that she often goes hungry. But she has courage, a strong moral ethic and does her best to take care of herself and her mentally-unbalanced mother. And though she has been treated unkindly, she responds to others with kindness.

Fallon is someone I admire, someone I’d be honored to have as a friend. Like the little girl Mama told me to befriend so many years ago.

Image copyright Talis via bigstockphoto.com

2011-12-26T12:07:00.005-06:00

...about making books free.

Amazon.com recently started a new service (I call it a service, because that's what it is proving to be for me). They're offering a lending library for Amazon Prime Members who own Kindles.

I'm not a Prime Member (but I'm considering it now), so you might wonder how the lending library is of service to me.

Here's how. If I opt to put a book into the lending library, Amazon provides the use of a special promotional tool: I can make a book free for a limited time. Making a book free is a fantastic way for an unknown author to become known...at least, to become known to those who download his/her free book.

I already knew, due to an experience with "free" in August, when I made Tugger's Down free, that this was a powerful promotional tool. So, in the middle of December, I made the first book in my historical series, High on a Mountain, free on Kindle. And while the effect was not as dramatic as it had been for Tugger's Down (because High on a Mountain is: 1) in a less popular genre; 2) it had a LOT of competition from other books being made free.

And so, I made the decision to offer yet another book free...On Berryhill Road. It went free yesterday, the 25th, and I'm very pleased with the results thus far. If you own a Kindle or you have the Kindle for PC app, or a Kindle app on another device, you can download On Berryhill Road today through Thursday. It will be free for a limited time, so don't miss out!

P.S. Don't you think the snazzy new cover created for On Berryhill Road by Connie at wordslingerboutique.biz is...well, snazzy?

2011-11-26T17:19:00.005-06:00

...about winning NaNoWriMo.

Okay. Just validated my manuscript, and...I won! I won! I won! I wrote 50,000 words and won NaNoWriMo!

The dust settles, I calm down, and...now what?

One piece of advice given to WriMos is to silence your inner editor and just write. If you keep stopping to fix things, to edit, you'll likely get stuck and not cross the finish line by November 30th.

So now, knowing you have a number of places where you said to yourself, "I'll fix that later," and you kept writing, per advice, you KNOW it needs editing. Or, you may be like I was after my first NaNo experience. I was convinced what I'd written was drivel and was poised to hit "Delete." But my NaNo buddy from that year persuaded me not to do that. She said that it just needed some judicious editing.

So, I took a deep breath...unsquenched my eyes and started reading it. And you know, it wasn't that bad. Oh, sure, there were places that made me cringe, but I thought, "She may be right. It may just need some editing."

I'm glad I took her advice. That book is my best seller online.

You first-timers who've never before written a novel may be feeling overwhelmed at the idea of all the editing ahead of you. Take heart. Other writers have lived through the edit/rewrite trauma, and you will, too. But I thought I'd share some tips that might help you as they helped me.

So, sharpen that red pencil, and let's get going.

First, if you're not accustomed to editing fiction, you might want to get a couple of books that I found immensely helpful as I learned to edit my works. The first is "Self-editing for Fiction Writers" by Renni Browne and Dave King. The second is "The First Five Pages" by agent Noah Lukeman. There are other good books on the subject, but I found those two most valuable.

Be prepared to spend however much time it takes to make your novel the best it can be. Spend time assessing character arcs, storylines, and other underlying nuts-and-bolts issues of good storytelling. Good editing takes time. A lot of time.

Make several passes through your novel, reading it with your eye focused on one issue each time. I make passes looking for unnecessary words. And other passes ferreting out the overuse of adjectives and adverbs. And searching out redundancies. (You'd be surprised how many times you find over-used words. I sometimes get stuck on a certain word and it crops up continuously.)

When you're sure you've fixed everything fixable, do another read through looking for typos, misspellings and grammar mistakes. There aren't any of those, you say? As many times as you've read through it (and you're thoroughly sick of the story by now), there couldn't be one mistake left in it.

Oh yes, there can. And there are. Just try to make sure that YOU are the one who finds those lurking problems, not a reader.

And after you've done that...it's time to discuss what you plan to do with your clean, polished, shiny new manuscript. But that's a topic for another time...

Image courtesy of Hannah Chapman via stock.xchng

2011-11-15T17:08:00.006-06:00

...about NaNoWriMo.

Today is November 15th, and I'm right in the big middle of my 6th NaNoWriMo. The title of my story is Windows, as in, the eyes are the windows of the soul. And my main character is Cotton Chastain. You remember him, don't you? From The Sands of Santa Rosa, last year's NaNovel? At the request of a reader, he's doing a repeat performance.

Except for my historical series about one family, I've not written more than one book featuring a particular character, so writing Windows has been a unique experience. Time will tell whether it's a worthwhile experiment.

But for now, I'm enjoying revisiting Cotton, Mattie and Sara.

Image: copyright Bill Davenport via stockxchng.com

2011-10-18T17:08:00.004-05:00

...about winning.

I have to tell you...as far as contests go, I'm usually an enterer, not a winner. But a few weeks back (or has it been longer?), Smashwords.com had a contest. It was simple. Make a blog post explaining how to format an ebook for submission to Smashwords.

Although, as I said, I don’t win contests of any sort, this time I decided to try. Why? Because the prize was a very cool, cobalt blue glass mug with the Smashwords logo in silver. Ummm. I thought it would look totally cool on my desk, and I had a sneaking suspicion that my morning coffee would probably taste better sipped from such an excellent mug.

So I entered.

And....I won! I won! I won!

(Trying to settle down here and regain my decorum.)

Anyway, to see a photo of this beautiful blue mug (which, by the way, I was right...it makes a cup of coffee taste wonderful), you can visit the Smashwords blog to see it here.

YAY! I won! (Still can’t believe it.)

Thank you, Smashwords!

2011-09-28T14:18:00.008-05:00

...about Kondi's Quest

I'm delighted to have as my guest today, Sylvia Stewart, whose book, Kondi's Quest, has just been released by OakTara. Sylvia's many years in mission work in Africa gave her a heart for the people, which is evident in this poignant story about a young girl of Malawi. Without further ado, we'll hear from Sylvia:

In 1946, a few days before my sixth birthday, I landed in Stanleyville, The Belgian Congo. I remember the palm trees flying by as our old propeller plane taxied down the dirt runway. We stepped out into muggy heat as we crossed to the terminal.

From that day, Africa has been my second home – as dear to me as my birth home in Oregon, U.S.A. As I grew up, my one desire was to “go back home” to Africa.

Our mother taught me first and second grade. Then I went to Rethy Academy, 350 miles and 10 hours’ drive from my parents. I began to learn to think for myself, to be independent and to rely on my heavenly Father.

I especially remember one moonlit night, lying on my back in my dorm room’s top bunk. Loneliness crushed my heart until I could hardly breathe. I’m alone – all, all alone! Just then a jackal began to howl not far away, and I wanted to howl with him. Tears trickled into my ears and I clapped my pillow over my head to stifle the sobs that shook my slight frame. I didn’t want the other girls in the room to hear me crying, and think I was a baby. In the stuffy darkness under the pillow, with even the moonlight cut off, God spoke to my heart as clearly as if His voice had been audible: “I’m here. You’re not alone – I am here!”

Throughout my life, God has been “here” for me. In the ups and downs, in the thick and thin, in the joys and sorrows, He has been the Solid Rock to which I’ve clung. I learned this lesson early in life because I had to be away from my parents at such a young age. God is WITH me and will help me through any issue that I face.

Kondi lives in Malawi, East Africa. She will show you much about her culture and the African way of life. Kondi is the composite of a number of Malawian girls I knew. She has poignant, tragic and funny experiences. She’s artistic, smart and loving. She’s also afraid.

Will this same promise also hold true for Kondi in Kondi’s Quest? Will God be close to her in all her troubles and her efforts to please God and her earthly father? Will she learn that living for God meant He waswith her – even when He seemed to be distant?

It is my prayer that Kondi’s story will touch the hearts of pre-teens around the world and help them know God loves them and that they will experience His presence when they are most vulnerable and in difficult circumstances.

~Sylvia Stewart

2011-09-21T13:19:00.013-05:00

...about The Blue-sprigged Dimity Dress

I think I was eleven years old when my grandmother told me about the first time she wore a long dress.

When she was a girl, back in the late 1800s, women wore long dresses but little girls didn’t. And having her first long dress was a proud milestone on her journey to adulthood.

Her story is a cherished memory. I can still remember how she looked as she told it, can see the brilliance of her blue eyes, the smile crinkles at their corners, and can hear her chuckles.

I always wanted to tell that story, to write it down so it wouldn’t be lost. I tried to do that when I was in my thirties, but it was a pitiful effort. I decided that I didn’t have the talent necessary to write it, so I forgot about it. Until I was in my sixties.

Some things I learned about the history of Scotland demanded to be told. I tried to write a fictionalized account of them, but, as with my grandmother’s story, my efforts were lame. But I’d discovered something during the intervening years: most things can be learned, and if you apply yourself, you can do a passable job of quite a few things.

So I set out to learn how to write.

After I wrote my first novel, High on a Mountain, the next thing I wrote was my grandmother’s coming-of-age story. This time, I was happy with it. But now, after it has rested on my computer the four years since I wrote it, I can see it’s woefully lacking. I want it to be a tribute to my grandmother, so I’ve decided to rewrite "The Blue-sprigged Dimity Dress," to make it something she would be proud of.

I’m starting the rewrite today.

Ma, this is for you.

2011-08-28T13:46:00.025-05:00

...about formatting for Smashwords.

When you’re a bright and shiny new author with a sparkly story to share, the question is: how are you gonna make it available to likely readers?

The answer used to be: write a query letter. No...write tons of query letters and drop them in the mail. Wait for the rejection slips to pour in. Rinse. Repeat. And some “experts” say you have to continue this process indefinitely. Bleh.

The prospect of that uphill slog discouraged me when I was at the bottom of the hill looking up. Until I found new ways to share my story.

One of them was Smashwords. It amazed me that I could format my manuscript by Smashwords’ guidelines, upload the file, and it would be available to the whole wide world as an ebook within the hour. WOW!

Now, I’m no expert when it comes to computers, text manipulation, or any one of a myriad of other abilities. But I was able to format my story, using the instructions I found in Mark Coker’s Style Guide (which is a free download from the Smashwords site). If I can do it, anyone can do it.

The main thing to remember in this process is: when in doubt, follow the guide.

But here’s a brief idea of how I set up a manuscript for uploading to Smashwords.

First, before I do anything else, I make a copy of the document to work from, then put the original in a safe place, and I don’t touch it. I work from the copy.

And let me mention this: before I even get so far as formatting my manuscript for Smashwords, I do one thing while typing my manuscript that simplifies my life: I never ever use the tab key to indent text. Nor do I use the space bar. I use the Paragraph > Format feature of Word to set indents. But if you’ve used the tab key, remove the tabs from your document using Search and Replace. Same thing goes for space bar indents.

Now, to get started with the formatting, I strip the undisplayed control characters within the text of a document (just because you can’t see them, don’t think they aren’t there. They are there, biding their time, waiting to make hash of your manuscript when it is converted into an ebook. So I remove them as a first step).

I copy the entire text of the document (Select All, Copy), then paste the text into Notepad (Notepad is a nifty little program you can find in your Accessories folder). That strips the embedded word processor control characters from it (except for tabs. They have to be removed manually or with Search and Replace, as I already mentioned).

Close the Word document. Open a new Word document, copy the text from Notepad and paste it into the new Word document.

At this point, you may be thinking your document looks pitiful...no indents and your italicized words are plain jane now. Not to worry. Notepad stripped out the control characters that told Word about the indents and other formatting niceties. We’re going to put them back manually. Here’s how:

1. Highlight all the text using Select All.

2. Go to the Paragraph > Format menu. Click the ‘Special’ drop menu on the right and select ‘First Line.’ A box will appear with the number .5 in it. You can leave the indent set at that amount or you can change it (I usually set my indents to .3).

3. Start at the top of the document and manually re-center chapter headings and any other text that has to be centered. Note: be sure to go into Paragraph > Format and change First Line to None for any text you want to center.

4. Start at the beginning and manually add any italics or bold attributes that Notepad stripped from your text.

5. At the beginning of the document, make a title page, following the Style Guide’s instructions. Include the title, name of author, copyright notice, the Smashwords license notes and any disclaimers (I also include the license notes at the end of the book). I always include attribution and copyright notices for the images used on my covers. I also put other information at the end of the book, like, my website address, contact information and a list of my other books.

And that’s it. I’m ready to upload.

Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?

http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/TommieLyn

2011-08-08T15:15:00.008-05:00

...about sneak previews.

Sneak previews can be fun sometimes. I hope this snippet of The Sands of Santa Rosa will be interesting for you....

The Sands of Santa Rosa

Chapter One

The mountains of northeast Georgia, next year

A dusty truck pulled up to the open door of Chastain’s Garage, and the motor died. The door screeched and shuddered as Gerald Kincaid swung it open.

“Dang it!” he said, stepped onto the asphalt ramp and slammed the door. He took a couple of calming breaths as he ambled into the building and glanced around the dark interior. “Howdy, Lonnie. Cotton ain’t here today? Just you and Frank?”

“Cotton’s takin' a break. Charlotte called and said she was about to take some biscuits out’n the oven, and the boy, you know how foolish he is over buttered biscuits and sorghum, he just had to go have him some while they was hot.” Lonnie glanced up from the wrench he was wielding. “Anything I can do for you?”

“No, I ain’t in no hurry. I can wait for Cotton.” Gerald found an upended five gallon bucket near the wall, scooted it closer to the green Honda Lonnie was working on, and took a seat.

“What’s your trouble?”

“Aw, it’s just that old truck is so wore out. It’s got to where it skips and misses more’n it hits. Other day, it just cut out completely. Lucky I was headed down from Turkey Roost Ridge, so I coasted most of the way home. I need to have Cotton check it out for me, see can he fix it.”

“Cotton’ll know what’s wrong, and if he don’t have time to work on it, I’ll fix it for you.” Lonnie knew Gerald didn’t like Frank McCraney to work on his truck.

“How come he won’t have time?”

“I don’t know that he won’t have time. I said if he don’t have time. Problem is, Stephanie Finlay brought her car in this morning.” Lonnie gestured toward a blue coupe in the next slot. “Told him she wants it back by closing. And you know how foolish Cotton was about her when they was in high school. I don’t think he ever got over her, even with her bein’ married now. Any time she says ‘jump,’ Cotton says, ‘how high?’ It’s enough to make you right sorry for him.”

The old gentleman on the bucket shook his head sadly. “Yep, right sorry.”

“Wish he could get her out of his system, find hisself another girl.” Lonnie shook his head

“He ought to just forget about women entirely and devote hisself to cars. I declare I never saw anybody with the knack of knowing what’s wrong with a car just by listenin’ to it like Cotton does.” Kincaid’s shoulders drew up and pushed his shirt collar against his scrawny, red-tanned neck. “It’s down right spooky sometimes.”

“It ain’t spooky, Gerald. That’s just how he is.” Lonnie hesitated, gave the old man a sideways glance.

“I know. And he’s that way ’bout lots more things than cars. It’s the Sight.”

“I reckon.” Lonnie closed the Honda’s hood, stretched his back and wiped his hands. “Charlotte’s mama had it, and her mama had it ’fore her. It skipped Charlotte, though, and lit on Cotton.”

Gerald pulled off his stained ball cap, wiped sweat off his forehead and laid the hat lightly atop his silver hair. “Pore boy. You know, they’s people don’t believe in the Sight nowadays.”

“They’d do well to pay attention to the things you cain’t see just as well as to the things you can see. Just ’cause you cain’t see somethin’ don’t mean it don’t exist.”

“I know, I know. I was just sayin’ there’s people that don’t put any stock in it.”

“They’re all outsiders. Folks that belong here, they know.”

“I reckon you’re right about that.”

Lonnie cocked his head listened. “Don’t think you’re gonna have to wait much longer. I believe I hear him comin’.”

Gerald turned his head toward the open bay doors. A faint thump, thump became louder.

“Yep, that’s him,” Lonnie said. “Thunder boy. If I’ve told him once, I’ve told that boy a dozen times, turn that music down. But will he listen to his daddy?”

“Maybe he cain’t listen. Maybe he done busted his eardrums on that loud racket.”

Both men chuckled and shook their heads as if to say, This younger generation…what are we gonna do with them.

A late model silver Dodge truck stopped in the lot. The door opened and a young man dressed in jeans, T-shirt and camouflage hunting cap stepped out. As he passed the old truck on his way to the open bay, he glanced at it and said, “What’s the problem with ’er, Mr. Kincaid?”

“Spittin’ and sputterin’ like a cat at a dog party, Cotton. Reckon you could take a listen?”

“Sure. Crank ’er up.”

Kincaid slid onto the seat and turned the engine over. He revved it a few times while Cotton closed his eyes and listened. He put his hands on the hood and leaned on it. After a minute, he signaled for Kincaid to shut the engine off.

The older man climbed out of his truck. “Well, what is it? What’s wrong with it?”

“Not much. Just need to clean the fuel filter. Won’t take long. Why don’t you and Daddy go have a cup o’ coffee, and I’ll have ’er ready to roll in a jiffy.”

2011-08-07T12:07:00.006-05:00

...about The Sands of Santa Rosa.

I’m about half-way through what I hope will be the final edit of The Sands of Santa Rosa. And I decided to do something I’ve not done before: give folks a glimmer into how one of my stories came to be. (That’s assuming, of course, that anyone has any interest in knowing.)

Last year when I attended the Pierre Chastain Family Association Reunion in Dalton, Georgia (my hometown), several of my Chastain relatives I met there asked why none of my books featured a Chastain character. I decided that the main character of my next novel would be a Chastain.

And in October, with the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico being a main topic of conversation here on the Gulf Coast, a cousin’s husband off-handedly said I should write a novel about an oil spill.

Ok, I thought. I’ll do that.

NaNoWriMo was looming, and I already had a character (Tilmon Lamont “Cotton” Chastain) and a setting/situation (oil spill in the Gulf). Now I needed a title.

Folks around here have told me they like reading the stories that are set in our local area, and On Berryhill Road is my best seller at festivals and book signings. So, I wanted a title that would anchor the story here. Since Santa Rosa Island is our barrier island fronting the Gulf, I thought it would be nice to use “Santa Rosa” as part of the title, and since the beach sands are impacted by things like oil spills, the title became The Sands of Santa Rosa.

All cut and dried and ready to go, right? Um, not so fast.

As usually happens when I write, what happens in my stories surprises me more than my readers. And this story was no exception.

I had a character, I had a setting/situation, and I had a title that I THOUGHT I knew the meaning of. But I was wrong.

As I wrote a scene where I followed Cotton Chastain onto the Santa Rosa Island beach at Navarre, suddenly, out of nowhere, a little girl popped up and said to him, “What you doing, mister?”

The little girl’s name? Sara Sands.

2011-06-21T22:48:00.004-05:00

...about The Character Therapist.

Writing a novel isn’t hard, right? I mean, it’s all just stuff the writer makes up, right? So what does it matter if the writer just pulls things out of a hat...like, a character’s reactions and beliefs and feelings?

It matters A LOT. Fictional characters have to “ring true,” have to exhibit behavior we recognize as being authentic. And their motivations have to jibe with what we know about people. Otherwise, the reader may have trouble suspending his disbelief in order to accept and follow the story.

So, how can a writer insure that the characters in a story are realistic, that the things they do are believable?

I have a powerful suggestion: call on the expertise of Jeannie Campbell, The Character Therapist. Jeannie is an actual therapist, and she applies what she knows of human beings to her evaluations of fictional characters, pinpointing what is or isn't authentic in their behavior, comparing it to how real people with certain traits might react in situations like the ones in your story.

A year or so ago, I asked Jeannie to assess one of my characters. I was feeling a little “iffy” about some things related to Fallon McKniere, of On Berryhill Road. And it was reassuring to have a professional therapist evaluate Fallon and her behavior.

Recently, Jeannie reviewed my novel, High on a Mountain, and she made some observations about Ailean MacLachlainn and his reactions to the tragedies he experienced.

And now, you can call on Jeannie’s expertise to help you as you craft characters with depth and believability. She has unveiled a brand-new site that offers “therapy” for your fictional characters. Drop by, pay Jeannie a visit at: http://charactertherapist.com/ . And, however reluctant they may be, take your characters along to meet her....

2011-06-20T14:03:00.007-05:00

...about an excerpt of Deep in the Valley, the sequel to High on a Mountain

ONE

Tsalagi Territory, South Carolina Colony, June 1760

Eight-year-old Niall MacLachlainn dashed into the creek behind his older brother, Aodh. He slowed as he neared the mountain stream’s deeper pool, and an involuntary shiver that passed down his body accompanied the rising of goose bumps on his arms.

His mother called to his little sister, and he glanced in their direction. At that moment, Aodh slapped the water, and cold liquid splashed into Niall’s face. He gasped and squeezed his eyes shut. He opened them to slits, clamped his lower lip between his teeth and swung his right arm in an arc, the edge of his hand skimming the water’s surface. He created a sheet of spray that inundated Aodh, who laughed and ducked beneath the creek’s rippling veneer.

Niall stared at reflections of green trees and blue sky undulating on the surface of the water. His stomach tightened as he tried to see through them, tried to see the form he knew was swimming toward him. A hand grabbed his ankle from behind and yanked. He fell, arms flailing, water covered his head, and he came face to face with his grinning brother.

When the boys hunted small game and birds with their blowguns, Niall could best his older brother. His aim was sure, almost uncanny. And his long legs gave him an edge in their footraces. But Aodh always won their water games. And Aodh was the one who always won their father’s approval.

Niall rolled onto his stomach to regain his footing and push himself out of the water. But a yellow gleam among the pebbles on the creek bottom caught his eye. He’d never seen anything quite like it. Edoda would surely be proud of him for finding something so unusual. Aodh had never found anything like this.

As his fingers closed over it, he felt his brother’s foot on his back. Aodh used Niall as a stepping stone to propel himself from the deeper pool into the shallows.

Niall thrust his body upward and shot from the water seconds later, the shiny pebble clutched in his fist.

__________

Kutahyah MacLachlainn watched her two oldest sons cavorting in the stream, a contented smile lifting the corners of her mouth. She loved watching their high-spirited antics. They’re going to be good, strong men like their father.

She untied the ends of the sling that held her baby in place on her back. She leaned over, pulled the cloth around and took him in her arms. She put his feet in the creek and began bathing him.

He squealed and kicked, splattering his mother with droplets. He reached for the water and arched his back when he found he couldn’t touch it.

Kutahyah finished washing him and lowered him into the water. She let him splash and play for a few minutes, then set him on the grassy bank.

“Brìghde, come watch the baby,” Kutahyah called.

Her six-year-old daughter left her pursuit of minnows and climbed out of the stream.

“Keep him out of the water,” her mother instructed.

Kutahyah waded into the deep pool, cupped her hands and dipped water to pour over her head and face, over her arms. She washed away the sweat and dirt from the day’s work in the cornfield. When she finished and left the creek, Niall followed.

“Etsi.”

Kutahyah looked into green eyes that were like his father’s.

“What’s this?” He opened his fist to reveal a small piece of gleaming yellow metal on his palm.

“Throw that back in the water.” A crease formed on her forehead. “If your father knew you—”

“Edoda! Edoda!” Aodh shouted. He climbed from the water and ran to meet the tall man who was descending the hill. “Edoda, you should have seen! I almost caught a fish in my bare hands!”

“That’s good, Uwetsi.”

Niall ran behind his brother, shouting, “Edoda! Look what I found!”

When he reached his father, Niall smiled, held out his hand and opened it, expecting words of praise. Ailean frowned when he saw what lay in the boy’s palm.

“Throw that back where you got it. Don’t ever take any of it from the stream again.”

Niall’s smile disappeared, and his shoulders sagged. Kutahyah hurt for her son. A wave of anger tightened her lips. She gave Ailean an irritated glance but bit back the words she wanted to say. She turned her attention to her son.

At every turn, Niall did something to draw his father’s disfavor upon himself. She longed to put her arms around his bony shoulders. She wanted to comfort him like she did when he was small. But he was growing into a young warrior, and it would be unseemly for the mother of a warrior to pamper him. She wouldn’t want to make him soft.

Niall turned slowly, eyes fixed on his feet, and headed down to the stream.

“Wait, Agidoi. Let me see.” Brìghde, Niall’s little sister, scampered after him.

Niall stopped and displayed the nugget.

“Ooooh! That’s pretty!” Brìghde gave her brother a wistful look. “Can I have it?”

“No. Edoda said to throw it back in the stream.”

“Please, please let me have it.”

Niall glanced over his shoulder at his father. “If I disobey, he’ll be angry and—”

“Please!” She grasped his wrist, pulled his hand closer and touched the nugget. “I want it.”

“I don’t want him to be angry with me. I want him to—”

“Please…”

Brìghde’s lower lip trembled, and Niall’s heart melted. He could deny her nothing. Even if it meant he might lose the most important thing in his life—his father’s approval—he had to give his little sister what she wanted, had to make her happy.

He placed the lump of yellow metal into her hand and pressed her fingers closed over it.

“Here,” he whispered. “But you have to hide it. Don’t let Edoda know I gave it to you.”

Deep in the Valley is available in print and as an ebook on Amazon.com and as an ebook on Smashwords

2011-06-20T12:52:00.001-05:00

...about The Day of Small Things

The Day of Small Things by Vicki Lane

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I gave this book 5 stars only because there's not a 6 star option.

Vicki Lane accurately captured the culture, the place, the people of the mountains where I grew up. Even though much of the book was set during my grandparents'/parents' era, there was such an authenticity to the speech, the habits and attitudes of the characters...I was mesmerized. And I felt like I'd come home.

It was such a delight discovering Vicki Lane and I'm looking forward to reading her other works.

View all my reviews

2011-06-02T11:08:00.002-05:00

...about Deep in the Valley

YAY! It’s done! Finished!

I say that tongue-in-cheek, because nothing I write is ever actually finished. Any time I read something I’ve written, I’m like a mother scrutinizing an adult child, forever looking for signs of improvement, forehead creased, tut-tutting over this word or that which I now think could have been replaced by one better chosen.

But, after working on this novel since I started writing it in the spring of 2007, I finally called a halt, said, “Enough’s enough!” and packed it off to be published.

So...how “done” is it? I have to say, I’m satisfied. I’m bound up in the characters’ lives, their hard times and happiness touch my heart...and they are alive. (Yeah, yeah, I know. They are fiction, figments of my imagination, but they will always be “alive” to me.)

And, as soon as Deep in the Valley goes live on Amazon.com, Barnesandnoble.com and Smashwords.com, I’ll be announcing its arrival like a proud parent.

2011-04-08T09:53:00.005-05:00

...about a sample of Tugger's Down.

Today's sample is from my novel Tugger's Down (ISBN 978-1450527934)
This is a small excerpt from Chapter Fourteen. (To read the first three chapters, click here .)

Regina answered the doorbell and received a box from a young woman who rushed back to the FedEx delivery van. She carried it to the kitchen and used a steak knife to slit the cardboard. And pulled a package from the box. It was wrapped in ecru silk, tied with a black ribbon. She untied the ribbon, pulled the folds of silk loose and uncovered a packet of papers, hand-stitched together on one side to form a booklet. The diary.

A small sheaf of loose papers lay on the diary. She recognized the top sheet of paper—her mother’s stationery, embossed with her initials, SAF: Sylvia Adams Farnsworth. And she recognized her mother’s careful, measured handwriting. Proper. Understated, with a minimum of flourishes. She checked the clock. The bus would deliver the children from school in three hours. She had time to examine the diary before she had to start preparing dinner.

She got a coke from the refrigerator, carried the diary and the papers to the family room. She sat on the end of the sofa by the floor lamp, took a sip of the canned drink and set it aside. She decided to start with her mother’s note. She read:

“Dear Regina, In accordance with eleven generations of family tradition, I am delivering this diary into your care, as you are the eldest daughter of an eldest daughter. This diary was penned by our ancestor, Prudence Cromwell, in 1692. I’m sure you are quite aware of the significance of that date.”

Regina frowned. 1692. The date meant nothing to her. Maybe she could find something about it online. She laid the diary and papers on the coffee table and went to the computer in the alcove. She turned on the computer, opened a browser window and typed “1692” into the search box. And was presented with a page of results. The first link listed was “Salem Witch Trials 1692.” And the next was a Salem link. And the next.

The witch trials? That can’t be what she means.

She continued clicking through pages of results. And found link after link to sites about the horrendous time from Salem’s past. She clicked a link at random and spent the next hour reading about the happenings in Salem, Massachusetts in 1692.

Although the website debunked the idea of witches and gave reasonable explanations for the events in Salem, it listed information about the trials and the people involved. Another website chronicled the bizarre behavior of some young girls who swooned, had fits and thrashed around. It offered reasonable medical explanations for such occurrences.

But reading those descriptions, visualizing what must have happened in Salem, set a tight band around Regina’s head and brought a dull pain to the base of Regina’s skull. She was overwhelmed by a sense of déjà vu, although she couldn’t understand why.

It’s all nonsense. Knowing how Mother feels about anything to do with the spirit realm, she couldn’t be referring to this.

She switched off the computer and returned to the letters. By the time the children arrived home from school, she’d finished reading Mother’s letter to her, and Grandma Tessie’s letter to Mother, and six other letters from eldest daughters to their daughters.

But she returned to Grandma Tessie’s letter from time to time, a deep sadness draping itself over her, bringing her close to tears.

She hadn’t been close to Grandma Tessie, and she regretted that. And she wondered why, wondered if her grandmother’s obsession with occult matters had played a part.

She had to have been a lonely old woman. Mother wasn’t close to her. And she made sure Ollie and I didn’t get close to her either.

A thought occurred to Regina. What if her loneliness had led Grandma Tessie to commit suicide? What if she, Mother and the rest of the family had been partly to blame.

Regina recalled the morning she got the call, when Mother’s hushed voice announced in a detached tone that Grandma Tessie had been found dead at her beach cabin. Dead. Of a self-inflicted gunshot.

No. It couldn’t have been anything we did or didn’t do. Surely.

And yet…

She shook off her melancholy and continued reading with self-control and determination. Three letters were left to read when the children arrived, and she had to set them aside. She rewrapped the packet, tied the black ribbon around it and carried it to her bedroom. She put the silk-shrouded bundle of papers into the bottom drawer of her dresser where she kept her sweaters. And as she arranged the sweaters to conceal it, she chided herself. But an odd disquiet settled over her as she closed the drawer.

2011-04-01T17:22:00.013-05:00

...about a sample of Scribbles.

Do dreams come true? Meg MacAllister hopes they don't....

Because in Meg's dreams, she kills. Or worries that she does....

Johnny Peyton doesn't believe her fears have basis in reality. At first.

Does she? Or doesn't she? And does she really want to know?

The sample excerpt of Scribbles has been removed.

2011-03-28T17:44:00.004-05:00

...about another sample.

Today's sample is from my novel ...and night falls. (ISBN 978-1441484307)
This is a small excerpt from Chapter Four. (To read the first three chapters, click here.)

“As far as I’m concerned,” A.J. said, “I think we ought to pack up and go home. I know I couldn’t enjoy myself now.”

Tatum took a deep drag from her cigarette and released the smoke in a long sigh. “Me, neither. Having a dead guy by my camping spot sort of takes the fun out of it. Know what I mean?”

Shelley leaned against the side of her car, her back to them. An idea swam in the murky depths of unrecognized knowledge, below her awareness. It kept her on edge, tension building, drawing the muscles of her shoulders tighter. When she became conscious of its presence, she still didn’t know what the thought contained. She looked across the water of the bay, where a sail boat tacked against the breeze, probably headed home.

The sun moved below the distant horizon and night fell, the darkness slipping across the water toward them, faint gleams and glows resting for brief moments upon the expanse of the bay, then disappearing when the wind scuffed the smooth surface. The darkness below the water’s glassy veneer appeared bottomless. Shelley shuddered, and in that moment, the thought broke through into her consciousness.

That shirt on the body. Hadn’t she seen one like it before? She’d only gotten a brief look, but now, it seemed as though she’d seen it before. No. That couldn’t be. It only felt that way because the vision of the body lying behind the brush kept traveling through her thoughts, she kept seeing that awful sight. Yes. That had to be it. It wasn’t—couldn’t be—familiar. And yet….

She glanced over her shoulder at the van. The Sheriff’s Office Crime Scene Van. Crime. The word echoed through her mind. A chill of awareness rose up within her thoughts. Yes. She had seen a shirt like that one. Farrell Gilbert often wore one like it.

Shelley’s breaths came in rapid succession. Should she tell the deputy she knew someone who wore a shirt that looked like that one? No. How could she explain it? And if—she pushed the thought away but it returned—if it was Farrell’s shirt...she almost gasped as a cold wave of dread washed over her.

She turned slightly toward the van. She looked at the sheriff’s insignia on the side, and the words, “Crime Scene.” She swallowed hard. No. It couldn’t be true. Farrell had not been a crime victim.

But he’d disappeared. She argued with herself, gradually losing the debate. It was too horrible to contemplate that someone she knew, someone she worked with, may have fallen victim to crime. But there it was, floating in her thoughts like a dead fish in an aquarium, foul and repulsive. She shook her head. The shirt...Farrell’s disappearance...nothing but a coincidence. She crossed her arms, lowered her chin to her chest. A coincidence. It had to be.

2011-03-23T12:15:00.007-05:00

...about Sample Sunday

The sample of High on a Mountain has been removed. To read a sample of the novel, visit the Amazon page and click "Look Inside."

http://www.amazon.com/High-on-a-Mountain-ebook/dp/B0042X9ACA/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1323772289&sr=1-1

2011-03-18T14:37:00.009-05:00

...about spring.

Finally! At times over the past few months, it seemed as if spring would never arrive. But at last, here it is, accompanied by brilliant blue skies, greening vegetation, warmer temps and the occasional thunderstorm. As glad as I am to welcome spring, it’s not my favorite season. That place in my seasonal esteem is claimed by autumn. But this year, spring is especially welcome.

Why? Because the winter just past coincided with a chilling aspect in my personal life: my husband had open heart surgery in December. It was a stressful, worrisome time...but prayer and reliance on God carried me through it.

And now, with his increasing recovery and reclaiming his strength, not only is the weather delightful--beautiful and warm--but so is the outlook for my husband’s health.

Praise God! He is so wonderful!

photo via stockxchange copyright Nick Pye

2010-11-17T15:25:00.008-06:00

...about remembering...

On Saturday, November 13, I was privileged to attend a memorial service for the Confederate soldier ancestor of a friend. Private Seaborn J. Cobb was honored by a military service conducted by Simpson Mounted Rangers UDC Chapter #2685, Milton, Florida, assisted by a re-enactment unit from Alabama.

Friends and family were in attendance at the solemn ceremony, including Pvt. Cobb’s two young great-great-great-great grandsons who were part of the re-enactment group. At the end of the ceremony, one of the two boys played taps for his great-great-great-great grandfather.

Especially moving was the Libations Ceremony. Each re-enactor knelt at the foot of Pvt. Cobb’s grave, took a sip from his canteen, then poured a bit of water at the foot of the grave, signifying the sharing of water with a fallen comrade.

Along with the playing of taps, the ceremony was concluded with a three-volley, twenty-one gun salute, fired from the muskets of the re-enactors, along with the firing of a cannon after each volley. Then the assembled group sang “Dixie.”

Private Seaborn J. Cobb, we remember....

2010-10-31T13:57:00.023-05:00

...about another book signing.

Our local Barnes & Noble Booksellers store hosted a Local Author Reception/book signing on Saturday, October 30th.

Quite a few authors participated, and so we had scheduled times...mine, along with several other authors, was from 1 to 2:30 pm. I usually team up with a writer friend for signings, but this was the first time I'd met most of the other authors who shared the assigned time.

We had a great time getting acquainted and I learned some interesting things. I just wish I’d had a pile of money so I could have bought a book from each author...there were some very interesting-looking books available.

And now, my focus is changing from the books I’ve already written to the book that is waiting in the shadows, waiting for me to write it.

Tomorrow, NaNoWriMo begins. I have a title tentatively picked out, a character name, and some writing music (Theme from Route 66, can you believe). So, I’m forgetting about the books and characters I’m already acquainted with and turning my attention to....possibilities....

Photos by Connie Ward copyright 2010

2010-08-04T07:20:00.003-05:00

...about awards.

I’m so happy to announce that my book trailer for ...and night falls won the REC Best Author Made Book Video for July 2010 on the New Covey Trailer Awards! Yay!

If you'd like to take a look at it, here it is:

2010-07-08T20:05:00.006-05:00

...about Southern hospitality.

Southern hospitality is legendary. And when hubby and I went to Munford recently for my book signings and his high school reunion, we enjoyed the wonderful Southern hospitality at the home of Penny and Calvin Edmondson, hubby’s sister and her husband.

The Edmondsons live on a beautiful wooded lake. The porch built across the back of their house overlooks the lake, and on a summer morning, when the sun’s golden rays come slanting over the hills, there’s no lovelier or more peaceful sight.

As enjoyable as the surroundings are, though, it was the fellowship which made our visit special. Penny and Calvin always make guests feel at home, make them feel welcome and comfortable. It was a relaxing time, chatting over morning coffee or discussing the day’s events in the evening. A weekend at the Edmondsons' was like a mini-vacation.

Thanks, Penny and Calvin!

Image via Dreamstime free images

2010-06-29T12:17:00.014-05:00

...about book signings.

I’ve been attending events, signing and selling my books, for about a year now. And when I went to Munford, Alabama last weekend, with the dual purpose of attending my husband’s 50th year class reunion as well as having a two-session book signing, I wasn’t prepared for what awaited me.

You see, I usually set things up myself, and I’m a rather “plain Jane” kinda gal. So when I walked into The Glass House Restaurant, I was blown away.

My dear friend, Charline Smith, and her daughter, Kay Glass, had organized and set up the event. Everything looked beautiful, elegant...a class act all the way, as the photos attest.

The refreshments were scrumptious (thanks, Kay and Earl!), the surroundings were beautifully decorated, and the warm welcome from the Smiths and the Glasses made me feel right at home.

And the icing on the cake, so to speak, was getting to reconnect with so many friends...it almost felt like a family reunion.

So, thanks, Charline, J. C., Kay and Earl...it was a fantastic weekend, thanks to you!

(By the way, we ate Sunday dinner at The Glass House after church Sunday morning...and I have to say, if you're ever traveling through Munford, try to time your trip so you'll be there at mealtime. The Glass House has some of the best eatin' around. Their Fried Green Tomatoes are out of this world, just like all their other selections!)

2010-06-28T10:43:00.007-05:00

...about Munford, Alabama

I lived in Munford, Alabama during my four years of high school. And what a wonderful four years they were.

Munford is a small community with a big heart. The people of Munford and the surrounding area are an example of the very best America has to offer...generosity of spirit, Southern hospitality graciously extended, kindnesses shown to kith, kin and to strangers, too.

Although my family wasn’t native to the area, we were warmly accepted and made to feel at home when we lived there. And I carried a piece of Munford in my heart when I moved away. I married a native son, and that marriage tie insures I’ll always be connected to the people and the place, for which I’m grateful.

And it’s no surprise to me that my recent book signing in Munford was a great success. Thank you, family, friends, for welcoming me home in such a super way.

2010-03-05T16:55:00.004-06:00

...about Read an Ebook Week.

March 7-13, 2010 is Read an Ebook Week at Smashwords. I'm participating by cutting the prices on my ebooks by 50% (which isn't saying a lot, since the regular price is only $1.99.....but still, it's the thought that counts, right?)

Here are the links to my books' Smashwords pages.

...and night falls

On Berryhill Road

Scribbles

Tugger's Down

If you check them out and decide you'd like to take me up on the discounted price, just let me know, and I'll give you a discount code to use.

And remember, this is for one week only...March 7-13, 2010.

Happy reading!

2010-02-19T19:45:00.003-06:00

...about coming up for air.

Sometimes a writer can become buried by writing responsibilities (whether they are placed on said writer by someone/something external or whether they are shouldered willingly). I’ve been in such a predicament, self-induced, for some weeks now.

First, the push was to get Tugger’s Down edited. Done.

Next, the cover had to be designed. Done.

So...I got the manuscript edited and typeset, got the cover designed and uploaded....and Tugger’s was ready to meet the world of readers, and I’m ready to come up for air, right? Wrong.

Another novel has moved in to take Tugger’s place: High on a Mountain, the first novel I wrote.

So, instead of getting out from under the avalanche of self-induced work I’ve been laboring under since...um...I can’t remember when it started exactly...I’m now buried a little deeper.

And a sense of urgency is attending this novel’s lurch toward completion...a number of people with an interest in history want to know when it’s FINALLY going to be finished (I’ve been working on it for four years, after all...and my other novels haven’t taken anywhere near this much time to make it out of my computer and onto the bookshelf).

They have a point. So, the “nose to the grindstone, shoulder to the wheel” situation will continue for a while longer. (Actually, more than just “a while,” since the sequels to High on a Mountain have to be finished, too.) {Sigh}

And my hubby invited me to go on a cruise... Wonder if I’ll be done in time....

2009-12-09T04:31:00.004-06:00

...about Operation eBook Drop.

I recently learned about a wonderful opportunity to do something for some our overseas military personnel...for those who have ebook readers available to them. And so I signed up to participate.

It took about a week to format my three novels and upload them to Smashwords so that I could make them available free to members of the military. I thank Smashwords and the creator of Operation eBook Drop, Edward Patterson, for this opportunity. I'm in the process of emailing coupon codes for the free downloads to military personnel who have requested to participate in the program.

And, by the way, for those of you who are not in the military but would like to check out digital versions of my novels, they are available on Smashwords for $1.99 (and you can read a sample for free on Smashwords). Here's a link to my Smashwords site.

Operation eBook Drop logo:
From the Imagination and Graphic Artistry of K.A. M'Lady & P.M. Dittman.

2009-10-21T05:01:00.011-05:00

...about visits.

I'm excited to announce today's visit from author K.M. Weiland!

K.M. Weiland writes historical and speculative fiction from her home in the sandhills of western Nebraska. She is the author of A Man Called Outlaw and the recently released Behold the Dawn. She blogs at Wordplay: Helping Writers Become Authors and AuthorCulture.

I can hardly wait to read Behold the Dawn, especially since she's whetted my appetite by providing us an exquisite morsel from it for our blog. And be sure to check out the awesome book video for Behold the Dawn. Without further ado, here's an excerpt from Behold the Dawn:

The infidels struck, screaming their wordless battle cry. Everything around them turned to pain and death. Annan didn’t wait to check for the guards. He clamped one hand round the lady’s arm and lunged forward. The sounds of the slaughter surged after them with an intensity and a speed that bespoke all too well of the attackers’ vigor.

He kept low, not daring to look behind him, knowing the Moslems were much closer than he wanted them to be.

He and the lady crossed the corpse of a guard, and Annan paused long enough to lift the infidel saber from the still-warm hand. It was a masterful stroke that had felled the warrior—silently, deftly, instantly. His nostrils flared in a momentary flash of admiration. Whatever else he was or had been, the Baptist was a man of many skills.

The courser, a muscled gray, snorted through distended nostrils, but he could not veer fast enough to escape Annan’s hand on the tie-line.

“Master Knight!”

At her cry, he spun to see the approach of the horsemen, dark against the ruddy sky. With one stroke of the saber, he severed the tie line and vaulted into the saddle, narrowly clearing the high cantle.

The Moslems swept through the camp, shouting their curses of vengeance, and Mairead turned to look up at Annan, eyes dark with the sudden horror that he was abandoning her already.

He shifted sword and reins all into one hand, fighting to keep the snorting courser from charging away. He reached out with his left hand and caught the countess’s outstretched arm. His wounded shoulder burned, and the tightness of the bandage nearly forestalled the necessary strength to swing her onto the pillion behind him.

She landed with a soft thump and let go of his wrist. Her arms came around his waist, her face against his shoulders. “Go.”

He laid his heels to the gray courser’s sides, and the horse lunged forward, dark mane unfurling against his rein hand. But this was a Western horse, bred for muscle and endurance. He had not the dexterity and fleetness of the Mohammedan war mares.

Behind them, the tattoo of hoofbeats grew louder yet, and Annan dared a look over his shoulder, past Mairead’s blowing hair. Only paces separated them from two infidel pursuers.
He spurred the courser again. The horse was fresh and responded with another lengthening of stride. But Annan knew they would never outpace their followers. He could only be thankful that these infidels were not that brand of Moslem archer famed for their accuracy on horseback, else the countess’s exposed back would already have become an easy target.

Not that it mattered. Once they drew near enough, the infidels would cut them apart at their leisure anyway.

He could not run. So he must fight.
********
WOW!! I can't wait to get my copy! Behold the Dawn is available from Amazon.com.

2009-10-18T19:17:00.002-05:00

...about lightning.

Hmmm. Writers are cautioned to stay away from clichés...they are tired, stale, trite and overused. But you know what? Sometimes, there's no way around it -- a cliché will pop up and demand to be used. That's what happened to me in my last blog post (I'm sure you've heard the old saying about silence being golden?).

Another cliché has popped up on my blog, just one day later...something about lightning striking twice...I'm sure you've heard it before. Lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place? Well, guess what...it just did. And what is that "lightning," you ask? A visit from a fantastic author!

Yep! We've got company comin' again!

This week, another exciting author will be visiting my blog...be sure to watch for her!

Image: Stanislaw Rombel via stock.xchng

2009-10-17T21:53:00.012-05:00

...about silence.

It’s supposed to be golden, isn’t it? At least, that’s what I’ve always heard. But sometimes, I fear it’s not valued as gold is. Particularly when the silence is on a blog where the blog host maintains silence (not on purpose, but because other activities crowded out her blog responsibilities).

I am hereby breaking my recent silence, with a word about the other activities which overshadowed my intentions to keep up with my blog.

Fi rst, I turned my back on my computer a few times and got to spend some wonderful golden moments with dear friends...

Second, I’ve spent some time working on a project which means a lot to me...the anthology my writer’s group is producing...

Third, I’ve done a lot of reading/research for the third book in my historical series...and learned a whole slew of things I hope will enrich the story I hope to write during NaNo next month.

So, there ya have it. But be forewarned: I don’t stay silent forever.

Image: Moi Cody via stock.xchng

2009-09-06T23:05:00.004-05:00

...about reviews.

When a writer pens a novel (or any book, actually), a haunting thought may occur once the manuscript is finished: will anyone like this story? Will anyone even want to read it?

And if the novel garners a positive review, it’s as welcome as a compliment on a child is to a proud grandparent. Grandma can’t help wanting to tell friends, “Hey, you know what little Jimmy’s teacher said about him today? That he’s one smart kid!” And she trots out her Grandma’s Brag Book of pictures at every opportunity.

I’ve been very thankful for reviews of my novels, and want to share them with others…rather like dragging out that Brag Book. So…here are the latest items in my “Novel Brag Book,” a review of …and night falls and a review of Scribbles, both featured on ICE (Intense Christian Entertainment) ezine.

Thanks so much, Patrick and The Alpha Jan for these great reviews!

2009-08-28T08:34:00.005-05:00

...about the winner.

I love to be the bearer of good tidings.

And today, I get to make an announcement that will make someone happy. I was just informed that the winner of the drawing for the e-copy of Rocky Mountain Oasis is. . . . (drum roll please, I like to make things dramatic when I can) . . . Myra Shofner!

Myra, you’re in for a treat!

My husband snagged my copy of Rocky Mountain Oasis from my desk last week and read it before I had a chance to…and he loved it! He’s waiting anxiously for the sequel. For those who didn’t win, be sure to get yourself a copy!

Image: Billy Alexander via stock.xchng – visit his page at: http://www.stockxpert.com/browse_image/profile/BillyRuth3

2009-08-20T21:13:00.003-05:00

...about the visit.

In my last post, I told you we had “company comin’”—and our company has arrived. Please welcome Lynnette Bonner, author of “Rocky Mountain Oasis,” newly released by OakTara.

And, as I promised, Lynnette has brought a free gift for everyone who reads this post…she is graciously allowing us to read the first three chapters of her novel: Click Here.

And, as if that isn’t enough, Lynnette is also giving away a free e-copy of “Rocky Mountain Oasis” to one lucky commenter on today’s blog post. So be sure to leave your comment!

Rocky Mountain Oasis is available at:

Amazon.com

ChristianBook.com

2009-08-19T15:56:00.006-05:00

...about company comin'.

There’s an old song that just went wafting through my brain. It’s by Porter Wagoner, titled “Company Comin’.”

And it reminded me…we’ve got company comin’ to “Tommie Lyn Writes” on Friday, August 21st. I thought I’d give y’all a “heads up” so you could mark it on your calendar (that’s day after tomorrow, by the way).

Our company will be bringing a free gift for one of you lucky readers, so be sure to check the blog on Friday to learn the details (and be in the running to win that free gift). So I’m dustin’ my blog, sweepin’ down the cobwebs, rollin’ out the red carpet, for our guest.

I’ll send out a reminder email Friday, just in case any of y’all are like me and have trouble remembering….

And don’t forget…y’all come see us!

photograph: Stock.xchng

2009-08-12T11:54:00.003-05:00

...about growth.

Everything grows: children, puppies, vegetables, piles of dirty laundry…

One thing I’ve been dimly aware of, hoping it’s been growing, too, is my writing ability. And, yes, it has. Somewhat. It may not seem obvious to some (since my writing abilities may not compare favorably with those of other writers), but my expertise with using the language—with stringing words together into a vehicle that will carry the images in my mind to the minds of others—has grown.

I wasn’t aware of the extent of the improvement, the growth, until I re-read part of my first novel (the one I have to edit “one more time”) last night. And things I’d never seen before jumped out at me: awkward phrasing, redundancy, poor choice of words…you name it, the poor writing was there. I’d known it needed more work. I just wasn’t aware how much more work it needed.

Even so, I’m not devastated at seeing the lack of stellar writing, only a bit more pressured by the “mountain” of work that lies ahead (hey, I just made a pun…cool!).

Let me ask…how is your writing growing?

photograph: Bev Lloyd-Roberts via stock.xchg

2009-08-11T12:18:00.006-05:00

...about writing plays.

Have you ever thought about writing a play? I wouldn’t know where to start.

Back during the first ScriptFrenzy, I did write a screenplay (Crawdads and Co-Colas), and that was quite an experience. But I’ve never been tempted to try writing a play.

Until now.

My mentor, Myra Shofner, will be teaching a free (get that? FREE!) online seminar for local writers soon, “Write the One-Act Play.” Since I have so many on-going projects competing for my time and attention, I was going to let the opportunity slide by. But you know what? I can’t (…as I’ve said before, I’m a pushover when it comes to challenges…hence my participation in NaNoWriMo every year). Yesterday, I broke down and signed up.

So, for those local writers who’ve harbored a secret desire to write a play (and for those who haven’t), here’s your golden opportunity.

The Panhandle Community Theatre is planning the 2010 Summer Theatre Festival which will only feature plays by area playwrights. And only writers who’ve completed the online seminar may submit their plays for consideration.

Go to http://writersgalleryms.com/ for more information about the seminar. And to sign up, send an email to: writersgalleryms (at) aol.com (email address purposely mistyped with (at) instead of @ to foil bots).

The deadline for signing up is August 18th. Don’t miss it.

Image: Stock.xchng

2009-08-03T11:51:00.010-05:00

...about requests.

When a friend asks me to do something, I try to honor it, if I can. But when two friends (Liberty Speidel: Word Wanderings, and Tamera Kraft: Word Sharpeners) make the same request, I no longer merely try…it becomes imperative to make an effort to follow through. These two friends bestowed on me the “Honest Scrap” award on their blogs…which means ~sigh~ I have to share eight things about myself. (And the fact that the second invitation came today…my birthday…65th birthday at that…well, I don’t believe in omens, you understand…but….) So here goes:

1. As I said in the preceding paragraph, today is my 65th birthday. I’m now officially older than dirt.

2. I was born in Dalton, Georgia, south of Chattanooga, north of Atlanta.

3. I met my hubby at church when I was 14, experienced a classic case of “love at first sight,” and never got over it. We married four years later, when I was 18. And now, I've been married almost 46 years to my best friend and love of my life. God has blessed me.

4. One of the more interesting places where I’ve lived is Okinawa, Japan. Interestingly, before we got orders to Okinawa, I studied Japanese for two years.

5. I took traditional doll making classes while we lived on Okinawa and became a licensed doll maker, and I enjoy other crafts and activities of all kinds: knitting, crocheting, tatting, macrame, pattern drafting, sewing (I even sewed hubby’s Navy uniforms from patterns I drafted myself…and they passed inspection!), drawing, painting, do-it-yourself black-and-white film photography, complete with my own darkroom. I was in a singing group for several years…the Joymakers. I like collecting and polishing gemstones, panning for gold, gardening, landscaping…um…I’ll stop there…I’m getting tired just thinking about all the stuff I’ve done.

6. Hubby and I were a presenting “team couple” in Marriage Encounter for several years.

7. I owned and operated my own computer graphics/animation company, and later co-owned (with hubby) a small printing company.

8. I was valedictorian of my high school class…something I don’t like to talk about.

Whew! I did it! There ya go…the “honest scrap” about me…stuff I’m proud of as well as stuff I’m not.

Now. To drop the other shoe, so to speak…one of the requirements of the Honest Scrap Award is that you are required to pass it on to others. So, here’s the list of my unfortunate victims…er, friends:

Myra Shofner – Myraswritersgallery Blog

Sylvia Melvin – Sylvia’s Scribbles

Shellie Tomlinson - Abiding

Ginny Cruz – Pioneer Poet

Katharine Richardson – Wise Dogs

Nona King – Word Obsession

John Long – Peace Be the Journey

Ray Shoop – Ray Ray’s Blog

…about disasters.

2009-07-23T17:17:00.001-05:00

Those of us whose lives are involved in our computer usage live with the knowledge that disaster can strike when we least expect it…our faithful (or not so faithful) silicone friend can turn on us, can become an ugly, vindictive monster, wreaking vengeance on us for all the times we’ve railed at it for not doing what we expected. In short, it can crash. And crash hard.

My “faithful” friend, who would probably have been 97 in human years, died a couple of weeks ago. An annoyance, but not a disaster. At least, that’s what I thought at the time. I’d suspected the coughing, the passing out at odd times and the slow gait at which my friend lumbered along the ‘net paths, meant the end was near. So a few months ago, I bought an external hard drive, copied everything onto it, and smugly made a religion of CD file backups since that time.

I was covered.

Or so I thought.

My new silicone friend and I are making tentative forays into acquaintance and, I hope, eventually, friendship. Things haven’t been as dire as I’d expected. Until this week.

A crit partner discovered three errors in my novel, On Berryhill Road. Yikes!

I loaded my page layout software, pulled out my latest CD backup of my novel files and loaded it…and discovered the font I’d used for chapter headers was not available on my new computer. Sigh. I found the online company which owns the font, plunked down my plastic and bought it. Installed it. Now…ready to go.

But…the first page doesn’t look quite right. I page through the document and discover it is now only 207 pages, not the 250 pages it was originally. Huh?? How can that happen?

It can happen when the font of the body text is a different version than the one on your old computer, with different settings for leading (spacing between each line of text of a paragraph). And when the leading cannot be exactly duplicated when you load the file onto a different computer, no matter what adjustments you make…..you got problems, honey.

So now, after a search through other typefaces available to me on my new computer, I found one which will give me an approximation of the original font, and I’m going through my document, page by page, changing the font (and for those of you who’ve never used page layout software, this process isn’t at all similar to what you can do in a word processor, which is: select all, choose font, voila!).

Yesterday and today, instead of working on my latest WIP, I’m doing monkey work. Page forward, highlight text, select font. Deselect. Page forward…..

…about the power of the written word.

2009-07-10T15:38:00.001-05:00

One of the most powerful elements in human interaction is the word. And more specifically, the written word. Our modern world, with its technological advances, would not be possible without reams of written information, inscribed one word at a time. And God chose the medium of the written Word to communicate His will to man, to record what He wanted man to know about Himself.

When I express myself through the spoken word, I don’t always do a good job of getting my ideas across. But when I write down what I want to say, I have an opportunity to evaluate my words, to pick and choose which will carry my meaning best, which will transfer the ideas and images in my mind to the minds of those who read my words. I can hone my message until the meaning is as clear as I’m capable of producing.

Since the written word has the potential for great influence, I believe it behooves us as writers, the wielders of pens (or computer keyboards), to make use of every means to hone our abilities. And I believe it’s good to be reminded occasionally of our potential influence and the responsibility that comes with it.

2009-06-15T20:05:00.001-05:00

...about conferences.

Last Thursday, another member of the Panhandle Writers Group and I traveled to Tuscaloosa, Alabama to attend the 2009 Southeastern Christian Writers Conference. I wasn't quite sure what to expect. I looked forward to attending the conference sessions, plus, I would have an opportunity to display and sell copies of my three published novels. Exciting!

I'll have to tell you...I was blown away.

The SCWC is the oldest writers conference in the country, and I found that fact alone impressive. But after being there just a few hours, I saw why it has been around so long. The workshops were well-planned and designed to inspire Christian writers and equip them with practical information they need to succeed. And every effort had been made to make the conference a positive and valuable experience for attendees.

Even more impressive, though, is the fact that the conference owes its existence to the loving ministry of one family: the Sloans. David and Joanne Sloan, their children and grandchildren worked tirelessly to ensure a smooth-running event.

I'll have more to say about this wonderful experience in future posts. For now, I just want to say, "thanks."

2009-06-15T19:56:00.003-05:00

...about self-publishing.

The publishing industry is changing. Most of us who write (and want to share our words with readers) are aware of this fact. And we are aware the probability of breaking through the "newbie barrier" and entering the Golden Land of acceptance and contracts is highly unlikely except for a very few.

So, what does a writer do if, like me, she is older than dirt and time is running out? I want to share my stories, want to see others read and enjoy them. Of course, that may or may not happen after I'm gone. But, selfish as I am, I'd like to be around to see it.

And so, while I will continue querying for some of my novels, I will usher the others into print myself, after I've washed behind their ears and combed their hair, of course.

...And Night Falls is the first to go out the door into the world. I published it on CreateSpace in February, and now, I'll begin a new phase in my life experience...marketing. Maybe I'll have something to say about marketing soon....

Available now at Amazon.com

2009-06-15T19:36:00.002-05:00

...about expansions.

Have you ever tried to stretch something to proportions it wasn't supposed to attain?
Like, stretching one biscuit to feed four people? Or, stretching a pair of size 12 jeans to fit a size 16 body?

That's the situation I've dealt with over the past few weeks. I finished my 20,000 word paranormal novella, Tugger's Down. Great. But then, two test readers told me I must expand it to full novel size.

Hmmm.

Have you ever tried that? It's excruciating.

After much mumbling, hair-pulling and tears, my poor novella has attained a size of almost 40,000 words. Not nearly enough. But I had to take a break from the torture, so I'm currently editing two other novels I finished (finished? ha!) last year.

Writing is fun. Rewriting, editing, stre-e-e-e-tching, is for the birds...

...about challenges.

2008-06-07T15:21:00.000-05:00

What is there about a challenge that makes it irresistible? Wish I knew. Because I fall prey to every challenge that comes along. NaNo. Mini-NaNo. ScriptFrenzy. You name it, I have to take it on.

Recently, a friend in my critique group issued a writing challenge: write a 20,000 word novella, either romance or mystery, in 10 weeks. Very doable.

So I set aside my work on the rough drafts of Deep in the Valley and Scribbles (yet again) to take up the challenge.

As of now, my paranormal romance novella, Tugger's Down, stands at just over 17,000 words.

Take heart, Niall and Bridghe, Meg and Johnny -- I'll be getting back to you soon...

...about submissions

2008-03-12T21:15:00.000-05:00

I've tweaked, corrected, rewritten and added subplots. I've polished, "washed behind the ears" of my two novels, and I think they may be ready for presentation to the public.
At least, I hope they are.

So. I wrote a query letter and a synopsis and compiled a list of agents. And ten submission packets are now sitting in slush piles somewhere in New York City. We'll see if they succumb to the slush or if they rise above it.

Meanwhile, I'll prepare the next batch of packets, and.....

Something is nagging at me. My unfinished sequel to "High on a Mountain" and my unfinished NaNovel from November 2007 have begun to jealously demand attention. So, I suppose I should give in, resume work on those two first drafts with one hand while the other hand assembles submission packets....

...about NaNoWriMo

2007-11-29T05:06:00.000-06:00

Another November has come and almost gone, and with it, the opportunity to participate in a wild, crazy activity called NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month, or, NaNo, for short). And, since I "did" NaNo this year, I now have 50,000 words of another novel, titled "Scribbles," "under my belt," so to speak.

NaNo, the brain-child of Chris Baty, is one of the best things to have happened to me as a writer since I began writing about two years ago. I was a total novice, feeling my way along in the writing dark, with fits and starts and stumbles. And then came NaNoWriMo, 2006.

I learned to throw writing caution to the wind, to forget about perfection, to forget about anything except getting words on the page. I thought at the time that what I was writing must be drivel, since I was writing so fast, allowing whatever came from the depths of my subconscious to splatter, raw and uncensored, onto the page (or, in my case, onto my computer screen).

But, wonder of wonders, when I went back and read it after I "won" the 50,000 word challenge, I found it wasn't as bad as I'd thought. I finished "...And Night Falls," tweaked and edited it, and had a readable tale to show for my experience.

Not bad for a month of frenetic typing, huh?

2007-10-13T15:18:00.004-05:00

...about keeping up with a blog.

My blog entries tend to be few and far between. I'm dilatory about posting, because I post only when I have something to say.

When a number of things are going on in my life, they take up my time and my energies, leaving little left for writing an entry for my blog which few people are likely to read, anyway.

As a matter of fact, at the present time I'm finding it difficult to keep up with the writing I really must finish. I currently am tweaking novels I've finished (finished? ha!), writing the rough draft of another and preparing to outline yet another novel for NaNo. (I don't usually outline a novel, but I do when I'm going to participate in NaNo -- I have to get some elements in mind before I begin writing or I wouldn't have a ghost of a chance of finishing. Not that those elements appear in an outline -- or even in the story. My outlines are more of a "getting to know you" session with my characters.) Not to mention the screenplay I wrote in June which needs editing. Sigh.

So, writing an entry for my blog gets pushed down low on my list of priorities. Don't know when that list will change. Not in the foreseeable future, that's for sure.

...about critiques.

2007-08-03T13:04:00.000-05:00

Writing is a solitary activity.

I retreat to a quiet place, put on my music, don my earphones, find that "door" in my mind, open it and let the story out.

However, the product of writing, for most writers, is intended to be read and enjoyed by others. That's the reason the real work in writing revolves around editing, rewriting, cutting, adding and tweaking to make the story appealing and enjoyable.

When I write, I have an emotional investment in my story, in my characters, in my words. As one respected member of my writer's group says, we writers love our words and are loathe to cut any from a WIP (sometimes, I find that it's the word or phrase I'm most in love with that most needs cutting).

That's why critiques from other writers are so valuable. Other writers don't have the emotional investment in my work that I do. They can see if it's interesting, moving, or if it slogs along too slowly. They can pinpoint areas that need work, that need clarification -- the point I may have intended to get across (and thought I did get across) may not be apparent to others. Critiquers can let me know that my point is missing-in-action, that it needs to be made in another way so that the reader gets it.

Good critiques are a valuable, sometimes painful, sometimes affirming, part of producing the best story I can write. And will help give me the best chance that my novels will be enjoyable to read and will, therefore, be read.

...about Script Frenzy.

2007-06-30T10:23:00.000-05:00

I did it! I completed the Script Frenzy 20,000 word challenge today. Whew!

My screenplay, Crawdads and Co-colas, is not complete yet, there are a couple of scenes that need to be written, but I reached the 20,000 word requirement today. As I did with NaNo, I'll take a short break, catch up on some things and then finish it.

And then, I'll edit it. And edit it. And edit it.

I know myself, I know my history. I will edit, and edit, and edit....

...about screenplays.

2007-06-09T21:07:00.000-05:00

A screenplay is not a short story, although it tells a story.

And it is not a novel, although it shares some common elements, i.e., characters, a plot, scenes, dialogue, description.

Having written two novels and several short stories, I made the assumption that writing a screenplay would be no problem. As a matter of fact, I had read advice from writers who assure other writers that it's easy to make the transition, and that novels are harder to write. "If you can write a novel, you can write a screenplay," they said.

Really? Hmmm.

I'm just over a week into the Script Frenzy challenge, and I can't say I agree with that advice. Right now, anyway. My screenplay, "Crawdads and Co-colas" is developing v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y. Part of the reason, I think, is the formatting. The other part is, it's just a different animal, one I'm not accustomed to.

But, talk to me in July. I may have changed my current opinion by then.

...about insanity.

2007-05-31T11:59:00.000-05:00

I have to be insane. Yes. That's the only explanation that makes sense.

When I wrote my murder mystery, ...And Night Falls, during NaNo, I'd never tried that genre before. And I said when I was finished with it, after the dust settled, never, NEVER again would I write a mystery. Too much work. Too much like being a juggler, so many elements to keep in the air at the same time, without dropping any of them. I also recognized the folly of writing an untried genre in a high-pressure situation like NaNo. Never again, I said. And meant it. At the time.

So. I have signed up to participate in Script Frenzy 2007. And my genre? You guessed it: it's a mystery. But not just any old mystery. No. I, in a fit of self-punishment, have allowed my brain to develop a mystery/comedy.

What's the matter with me? Have I taken leave of my senses? Am I totally insane?

Ah, well. Please spare a pitying thought for me over the next 30 days as I struggle through the experience of learning to write a screenplay. And a mystery/comedy screenplay, at that.

Arghhh!!

...about cornbread.

2007-05-29T09:11:00.000-05:00

I don’t know who came up with the idea of putting sugar and eggs into perfectly good cornbread and ruining it, but, I have a bone to pick with that person. After all, a soft, crumbly, sweet substance is not bread…it’s cake. And who wants to eat cake alongside beans, potatoes, collard greens and fried green tomatoes?

Certainly not I.

Cake has its place, of course: at the end of a good meal with a steaming cup of dark roast coffee.

But cake is just not up to the task of accompanying a mouthful of beans and bite of raw onion, washed down with a big swig of sweet tea. It takes a good, solid chunk of buttered cornbread, broken from a round, cast-iron-frying-pan-baked pone of crusty, savory, stick-to-your-ribs cornBREAD to stand up to the likes of satisfying fare such as that.

...about word count.

2007-05-05T00:16:00.000-05:00

When I participated in the NaNoWriMo challenge last November, the important thing was word count. Don't worry about the plot, the characters, the advice went, as long as the word count is advancing properly.

As a matter of fact, the originator of NaNo has published a book, "No Plot No Problem." In it, he stresses the importance of just writing. Get that word count moving up. And up. And up.

And he's right, I think. As long as you have words down on paper (or on screen, as the case may be), you have something to work with, something to edit, to knead, to work into shape, into a story.

So, in spite of all the roadblocks I'm encountering in my drive to increase my word count in this personal "MayNo" I've undertaken, I continue to slog along. I suppose I'm hoping that I'll soon have a burst of energy that will occur simultaneously with a reduction of demands on my time, and that I'll get my word count moving in the right direction.

...about genre.

2007-04-28T14:40:00.000-05:00

When I first began writing last year and experienced writers asked me, "What's your genre?" the answer was easy. I had one story I was burning to tell, and it was historical.

Now, though, the question is harder to answer, because, after I wrote that first novel, the next novel I wrote was a mystery. (At least, I think it's a mystery. It has blackmail, a murder, a hitman, a couple of villains...but it also has a romance in it. Confusing.)

Ok. So, now my answer became, "historical and murder mystery."

But writing short stories using writing prompts lately has muddied the waters. I've written fantasy and horror stories, and a couple that I can't classify.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, please don't ask what genre I write, because I don't know any more.

...about the language.

2007-04-15T12:32:00.000-05:00

It should be a given that writers, like other craftsmen, should know how to use the tools of their trade: words.

It should be a given, but it isn't.

In my own work, I sometimes find grammatical errors, misspellings and other evidence of lack of expertise with the language. And that is so unnecessary.

Books abound which contain advice and instruction on proper grammar. And dictionaries, both print and online versions, are readily available to help the writer with spelling and with selection of the proper word to use in a given instance. (Spellcheckers are of some help, but they cannot always determine which word is appropriate, i.e., "there," "their," or "they're," and are, therefore, unreliable.)

Since one of the first pieces of advice editors give regarding submissions is, "Make sure your manuscript is free of typos, misspellings and grammatical mistakes," one would think writers would make working to acquire proficiency with the language a number one priority.

One would think so, but......

...about research.

2007-04-11T19:13:00.000-05:00

Write what you know, they say.

But what if the story you are burning to tell is set in a place where you have never been? Or in a time not your own? What if you don't "know" the location or time period?

The answer to your dilemma is: research.

And while the research can provide valuable knowledge of the details you'll need to include to make your story believable, it will also give you an opportunity to immerse yourself in the "world" of which you will be writing, to get to know the people of that time and place, to understand something of how they lived and what they did. And, perhaps, gain some insight into how they may have felt and what they may have thought. Which can lend an authenticity to your writing.

The amount of research necessary to write "High on a Mountain" seemed daunting when I started. But I found that the learning became an adventure in itself.

Now that the story has been finished, I'm beginning to delve again into the discovery of facts about another time and place and people, to prepare myself so that I can write the sequel to Ailean's story. But this time, I know what an adventure the research can be, and I'm diving into it joyfully, whole-heartedly.

...about writing prompts.

2007-04-06T16:54:00.000-05:00

They look innocuous. They can seem somewhat flaky when taken at face value.

But they can be powerful.

I'm speaking of writing prompts, of course, those little spurs to creativity, those little words which get your story-ball rolling.

I've been so involved over the last few months in editing, rewriting and rewriting, in putting together pitches, in crafting what I hoped would be knockout query letters and synopses, that I'd forgotten what my primary desire and mission is: to write fiction.

So, I started last night, with the help of a couple of writing prompts, to loosen up those rusty writing muscles, to warm them up, to flex them and strengthen them in preparation for my personal NaNo in May. And while the results are not perfect, I've made a respectable start with my first two pieces.

It's time to drag out the old thesaurus, make a pot of coffee and put on the earphones.

...about characters.

2007-04-04T14:57:00.000-05:00

Who are those people, anyway?

I'm speaking of the people inhabiting the shadows of your half-envisioned story. Those people, who, if encouraged, will take on form and substance, will become real in that shadowy story world of your mind. Those people, who, if given half a chance, will come alive, will make your story real, will make it believable and enjoyable to read.

The first time one of those cardboard cutouts, who I'd stood up in a scene for the benefit of my main character, said something I hadn't planned for him to say, it freaked me out. I was afraid to tell anyone, for fear the men in white coats would be making an unscheduled visit to my front door. But I tentatively told a trusted confidante, who is a writer, and she assured me that it happens to writers -- a character becomes real and takes on a life of his/her own, says or does things you, the writer, had not planned on.

Since that time, I've enjoyed the process of watching these imagined people become real in the story, and I've become attached to some of them, have come to know and like them. And have been reluctant to bid them "goodbye" when the story was finished.

And now, I'm starting the adventure again, coaxing each of the characters in my new story to come out of the shadows, to take on substance, to show me who they are and what they are like.

It makes the writing process seem more like a discovery than a creative venture.

...about writers.

2007-04-01T18:47:00.000-05:00

Writing can be an unusual undertaking.

And writers are, in some ways, unusual folks.

In most fields of endeavor, one encounters shades and nuances of rivalry, competition and, sometimes, even outright jealousy between contenders for a given prize. For writers, the sought-after award is usually publication of a piece of writing.

In working to attain that "reward," I have not found rivalry nor competition among other writers who are also striving to be published. I have found, instead, that other writers form a built-in cheerleading squad, urging each other on, giving helpful advice and encouragement, and celebrating each milestone, each achievement.

How unusual that seems when compared to some human endeavors.

And how refreshing.

...about plots.

2007-03-29T15:31:00.000-05:00

There are 36 or 37 of them, they say. Or maybe only 7. And some say there are as few as 2, with many variations.

Whatever.

I don't really care how many there are. I don't care what they are. And I don't even care which "plot" defines the current story I'm writing, just as long as it has a plot and it's interesting. The important thing to me when I'm writing is the emotion a story generates in me as I write it, and, hopefully, the emotions it will stir in those who read it.

What brought up this topic? I've started the process of writing my next novel, the first sequel to "High on a Mountain," and I'm beginning to get involved in my characters' lives, to see their faces, to hear them speak, to watch their actions, to understand their thoughts.

And that is what engrosses me as I write -- watching these people "come alive." More than the plot. More than the "arc." More than the beautiful turn of a phrase (do I even have any of those?).

Granted, there are some technical aspects to writing, and without a plot, there isn't really a story. But, for me, those technical things seem to apply after the story has been told, and their purpose is to make the reading more enjoyable, so that writing mistakes don't stand between the reader and an interesting tale.

So, Ailean and Aodh and Cootiyah -- I'm watching and waiting. What plot are you going to give me this time?

...about writing.

2007-03-27T10:32:00.000-05:00

Ah, that inner editor. That stumblingblock to creativity.

One of the best things I've learned during the short time I've been writing is the value of silencing that built-in critic, to write the first draft unencumbered, unshackled by the inner voice which tells you what you've written is wrong, bad, laden with mistakes.

Of course there are mistakes. You wouldn't be human if you didn't make mistakes. BUT. They are correctable, fixable, root-out-able. No problem.

The real problem in writing, for me, is to allow the spectre of the mistakes flowing from my fingers, through the keys and onto my screen, to stop me, to allow it to slow the torrent of that first draft, to keep it from pouring out.

Because, I WILL edit. Forever and incessantly, I will edit. I just have to get my story fully told first, then I can allow myself to meddle, to whittle, to strike out and to add.

As a matter of fact, if my novel is accepted for publication and sees the light of day in print, I will probably be at the bookstore, chasing down the people who buy it, pen in hand, saying, "Please, please, just let me fix that one word. You'll be glad I did....."

...about the writer's conference.

2007-03-25T15:21:00.000-05:00

I began writing this blog post while at the conference. And, yes, I brought my laptop with me to the conference. (My laptop and the motel's wireless made it easy to feed my computer/internet addiction and keep the cybermonkey on my back happy.)

The conference was great -- there were great speakers, it was great meeting fellow writers and it was a great opportunity to pitch my novel to editors and literary agents (who, it turns out, are such nice folks, kind and gracious). If you are a writer and haven't attended a writers' conference, I recommend doing so.

I approached my pitches with fear and trembling, but, surprise, I received requests for synopses/sample chapters.

To say that I am bowled over is the understatement of the year. I am stoked. I am excited, delighted, elated, and exhilarated (check your thesaurus for other synonyms of the word "exhilarate" if these words I've chosen don't paint a clear picture for you). And I say a big "THANK YOU" to my friends who prayed for my success this weekend.

...a second post. Wow!

2007-03-21T10:28:00.000-05:00

Ok. So I've set up a blog. Of sorts.

Not being an inveterate bloggee (or should that be, "blogger?" -- no, it shouldn't be "blogger," because...oh dear, I've lost my train of thought; where was I? oh yes...), not being a person who regularly visits or reads blogs myself, I'm at a loss as to what a bloggee (oops! I'm not getting into that again)...I'm not sure what a person who regularly visits blogs expects to find, so I'm unsure what I should write. Maybe, if I keep at it long enough, I'll learn.

Hmmm. How about a little news about me? (ha! as though that would be interesting to anyone else...)

I'm finishing my preparations for the upcoming writers' conference this weekend. I've honed, shined, rearranged and reworded my pitch for my novel "High on a Mountain" a dozen times. I'll be so confused when my turn comes with each agent/editor that I'm likely to forget my name or the title of...of...what was that title again?

If, on the off-chance that someone should read this post before March 23, please give me a passing thought and a wish for success as I make my pitch. I'd appreciate it.

...her first blog posting

2007-03-18T23:28:00.000-05:00

Everyone else has one, I'm told.

So, I have to have one, too, if I'm to be an effective, noticed writer of professional proportions. (I have some proportions of another kind...but we won't talk about that.)

But if I have my own blog, I ask, what am I to say? What should I write? What pithy words, earth-shaking advice or droll, ROFL comments can I make that haven't graced the blogs of writers far more experienced and respected than I?

Ah, well, gentle reader (or ungentle, as the case may be), perhaps I will find those wonderful, bring-tears-to-your-eyes-they-are-so-beautiful phrases you are breathlessly awaiting. Or not.

Only time will tell...